


Dimmer Light

by darkponds



Series: Silent Dawn [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Gen, Mourning, Post-Canon, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-10-09 08:15:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10407807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkponds/pseuds/darkponds
Summary: You can temporarily distract yourself from pain. But it will come back; it always comes back(aka: the boys cope. sort of.)





	1. ignis

**Author's Note:**

> this is the last part is this little angst series that i've been torturing myself with. this will have four fairly short drabble-like chapters. 
> 
> i don't really expect to get a huge response for this fic. it's purely a coping mechanism for my own shattered feels over this game and these four boys. as always, if you wanna cry we can cry together

He has to care for someone. Even if he can't do as much as he used to, it's all he knows how to do. He's somehow found his way around Prompto’s apartment in record time. It's a small place in Longwythe.

 

Prompto works at the Crows Nest to cover the rent. Oddly enough Prompto doesn’t learn how to cook even working at a diner. That's what Ignis is for. He's always pulling scraps from the kitchen; ingredients for Ignis. It's easier for them to cook together. It's therapeutic. He would be Ignis’ eyes any day. It's the only thing he likes to do that holds him together.

 

Ignis had a really good sense of smell. He can tell if something is gonna burn about three minutes before it does so. Leaving Prompto to rush to the small kitchen before culinary chaos can ensue. It's bonding of sorts.

 

There are a lot of evenings like this. Ignis tries to be a comfort to him with these moments. He's more worried about leaving him alone. Sometimes he can hear quiet sobs from the bedroom. He navigates with practiced ease from the couch to the bedroom. He settles a hand over Prompto’s sobbing and trembling form.

 

“Ignis…” he sobs.

 

He can't help himself. He doesn't mourn the same way Prompto and Gladio do. But his best way of dealing is to make sure that they don't fall apart. He wants to stay together, he wants to stay close.

 

It's the only thing that makes the dark he lives in somehow seem bright.

 

The shakes subside after some time passes. He gets up to leave. A hand grabs him by the wrist.

 

“Stay.” Prompto practically begs him.

 

And how could he ever deny him? Most nights are okay but sometimes he finds Prompto falling apart. He thinks it gets worse with each passing day. He’s not one for talking about emotions, but he’s sure that the sooner Prompto opens up to him the better. Because suppressing himself and constantly crying himself to sleep is hardly a better option.

 

He decides that he can let it go sometimes. They’re at the two month mark of trying to get back into something normal and constant. Prompto hasn’t really had any kind of episode in a week. He can’t decide if it’s a good thing or bad. Mostly he just _doesn’t know_ because Prompto shows all of his emotions in his face, and it’s not like he can see him.

 

He feels like he can’t be a proper friend. He cares a lot about Prompto’s well-being but it’s mostly because if let anyone else he cares about fall through the cracks, then he wouldn’t be able to carry on himself.

 

He suggests a vacation over dinner. Nothing extreme. Just so they can get away for a bit.

 

“Lestellum?” Prompto says, confused.

 

“For old times’ sake.” Ignis supplies. “Perhaps they’ve built it back up to it's former light.”

 

Prompto is quiet for a moment. And then it occurs to Ignis that they’ve never been there without Noctis by their side. He opens his mouth to retract but Prompto interrupts him.

 

“Okay.” He says, with an oddly measured amount of enthusiasm. “Let’s.”


	2. bereavement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the sads. self harm and blood tw

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't really know what i'm doing i'm just sad over this game still and here's the big gay emo product of it

The only thing that’s nice about it is the weather. Prompto and Ignis take note of the broken through blockades when they approach the city. Ignis was right; there was some semblance of restoration in Lestellum. Prompto looks for the delight on his face as he tells him what's there when they drive through and how it seems like a real place to live again. But he's not finding it. As many times as he looks at Ignis, waiting for some kind of emotional repose, he gets nothing. Not since that fateful night at the citadel. After that night, he hasn't seen even a flash of emotion. He comforts him. He takes care of him. But Prompto doesn't want it to be one sided. He wants to pick Ignis up too.

 

It's not fair, he thinks. He doesn't get any piece of Ignis. And Gladio has been entirely distracted. Prompto can't imagine how he's holding up because he hardly speaks to them. There are just no words that can fill the space sometimes. And when there are words, they seem to make time drag on longer than it is in reality.

 

It's not awkward, it’s just painful. They promised that things wouldn't be like this. They promised they would stick together and lean on each other. But they can't even pick up a phone to call sometimes.

 

Ignis is trying, Prompto knows that. But it still doesn't ease his frustration. He still wants to cry and scream and hit him in the face for having such a stone-cold, emotionless expression 24/7. He also feels horrible guilt. Because he shouldn't have to think those things about Ignis. Ignis doesn't deserve it. Whatever pain he's feeling is masked behind an ever-present and perfectly immaculate front. The picture of sorrow never once painted there. His empty eyes don't even cry.

 

He sees their icy hue at night when Ignis removes his glasses. He catches himself wondering if his heart is just as vacant as his eyes.

 

He wants Ignis to cry with him. Someone has to. He needs some kind of affirmation that he's not the only one in this much pain.

 

* * *

 

They small talk with a group of people on the construction crew for the power plant restoration. They have built a camp of sorts. Ignis finds out much about the developments being rebuilt while Prompto mostly just listens.

 

The hotel is up and running. It's not very clean; they've obviously seen it in better condition. But it's alright. They've only come for a change of pace. Between the Crow’s Nest, and a small compact apartment they shared, and the seemingly endless stretch of Desert Mountains, they had to get away according to Ignis.

 

He said yes. He isn’t sure why. He's so sad that he may have agreed to anything in that moment.

 

It's the worst when they go to sleep. It's quiet and dark, and being here reminds him of all the time he spent in the 10 year darkness wondering in agony when Noctis would finally return if ever did. He hunted. Hunt after hunt, letting the pain from his daemon inflicted wounds distract from his own thoughts, he waited for a certain fate.

 

He wanted to keep going when the promise of being reunited with Noctis was _real._ Now he can only see him in death. In a way it makes him reach for it. And he would feel bad about it if he thought that someone would miss him.

 

He thinks that maybe Ignis only tends to him and comforts him for Noctis. Perhaps he only stays by his side out of loyalty for their fallen king. And that thought is too heavy for him to bear. He's felt like a burden his whole life, to still remain as such even now; he was ashamed of himself. He hated himself.

 

Some years ago he could stew in it until Noctis’ simple words of encouragement snap him out of his depressive state. But not anymore.

 

He cries quietly, but audibly. He's not trying to conceal it form Ignis. He never does. He waits for the comfort he so desperately craves and it doesn't come. He can't blame Ignis because he doesn't know if he's even awake or not.

 

But that isn't enough to snap him out of his manic state. He rises from the soft, freshly washed  sheets of the of the hotel bedding. He makes his way to the connected bathroom, trying to think of way to turn of his thoughts. This isn’t relaxing. This isn’t a vacation. This is pure torture for his mind. He can only think of all of the memories that he’ll never have back again.

 

When the bathroom door clicks shut, its louder than he intended. Ignis’ voice imidiately follows.

 

“Prompto?” He hears muffled from the other side of the door. He turns on the bath to drown out the sound of Ignis’ voice.

 

There’s a knock at the door. “Prompto are you alright?”

 

He doesn’t answer him. He’s bitter and manic. He can’t speak to him like this. He doesn’t want to speak ever again.

 

The knocks get louder and he strips down to his boxers, ignoring it all. He opens the drawer where he knows he put his straight razor.

 

He’s just going to shave. That’s all he’s doing. Nothing wrong with that at any hour.

 

“Prompto?!” The door knob rattles.

 

Ignis feels useless. Prompto is behind this door and he’s not answering him. He heard the quiet crying and he did nothing just for the sake of seeing what would come of it.

 

He waits for a moment, trying to calm his heart. He hears a hiss, then silence. He hears a sob, then nothing again.

 

“Please Prompto.” He holds his hand over his heart. “Please open the door.” He’s afraid.

 

With no response he uses brute force to knock the door down. It’s rickety and falls easier than he thought. The water is still running but he can’t hear anything else. He’s not sure if Prompto is still in here.

 

He steps forward only to slip on the water that has overflowed out of the tub. He is shaken by the sudden fall and spreads his hands across the tile to measure the space there. To find what took place. To see if Prompto is _there._ And the water feels strange, _thick._ Like there’s something else there. He finds the edge of the tub.

 

“Prompto?”

 

He grasps an arm in the water and feels around his body, already stunned and crippled with disbelieving worry. He runs his hands up his arm and back down his wrist.

 

It’s there at his wrist that he feels the open slit of skin, paired with the unmistakable slickness of blood.


	3. stolen purpose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> gladio gets pulled back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more sads. sorry.

The light isn't a fix all. Though it cured the scourge, for Gladiolus, it hasn't cured anything.

 

It's been two months. Needless to say, he's out of work. Mira encourages him all she can. She tries to talk him though it. It doesn't really help. He knows her hearts in the right place, but he though that she knew him well enough to know that kind words and gentle suggestions aren't going to help him along. Not with how things turned out.

 

His very existence was rooted in the protection of the line of Lucian kings. But somehow, something that started as a duty became so much more than he ever imagined. He gained friends through this sworn occupation. He lived by these friends, knowing no other way.

 

He raised his sword to defend them, always and forever. To defend Noctis forever. To always make sure that he could carry on with his head high to become the king that he was destined to be. Until his last breath. It was a sworn oath. _May I not breath another breath if I should let the king fall. May we only die as one._

He didn't know whether to take this oath literally or not. He was hardly sixteen when he had sworn it. His father had briefed on understanding the severity of his situation. On understanding that this was his life now and sacrifices are bound to be made.

 

He knelt down in the throne room and swore to a Noctis that was not even old enough to cross the street on his own, swore that he would protect him always. He swore this in the very same room that he found Noctis forever asleep.

 

He couldn't find a way to properly feel his grief because he couldn't get past the crushing guilt of failing him.

 

Mira knew just about as much about Noctis as Gladio told her. Which wasn't very much. He had his hopes high that they would one day meet in person. This was all so far away now.

 

He waited. He waited ten long years. And Noctis came _back. He came back._ And Gladio would wait another ten years. He would wait a hundred years. He would wait an eternity.

 

But no matter how long he would swear to wait, Noctis isn't coming back this time.

 

He curses his own tears. He doesn't want Mira to see. So he goes off alone whenever he feels the need. He doesn't deserve to cry, he thinks. He still lives. He still breathes. And Noctis is no more.

 

He wants to walk tall for him, he wants to do as his friend had asked him. But as time passes it seems more difficult. Each day a new strain in his heart. Guiltily held back from truly moving on from it all.

 

It's in the desert passes of Hammerhead, shielded by the rocky cliff sides, that he is snapped out of his thoughts my the unyielding ring of his phone. He expects Mira’s name to be there lit across the screen. It's Ignis. He wipes his eyes and breathes before answering the call with shaky fingers.

 

“Ignis.” He says flatly, masking it to the best of his ability.

 

“Gladio.” His voice sounds strained, uneven. “Do you have the provisions for a trip to Lestellum?”

 

“What's up?”

 

“It's Prompto.” His even composure and smooth accent is wavering, his confident speech slightly off.

 

“Ignis What-”

 

“Please.” He interrupts him, tone desperate. “I'll explain when you arrive. Make haste if your  affairs permit it.”

 

“On my way.”

 

He hangs up, heart heavier. His lungs feel smaller, and his head throbs with worry.

 

He drives with ridiculous speed plagued with thoughts of what more can come their way.


End file.
